Mud Season
by AsherahRiddle
Summary: It's rainy season in Oregon, and White Pine Bay is a muddy mess. Norma has had it up to here cleaning up the mud around the motel, and when a certain Sheriff shows up with mud-covered boots, she has a word with him about it. A Normero one-shot!


**Mud Season**

Norma Bates was at the end of her fuse. It was "spring" in Oregon, which translated into "mud season" to the locals. It rained so frequently that nothing had a chance to dry out, turning the town into a dirty brown mess. It also turned the carpets, towels and walkways of the motel into a dirty brown mess. Norma had been cleaning up after the guests for two straight weeks now, and she swore to herself that if one more person put muddy footprints on her new carpets, they would join Keith Summers at the bottom of the bay. Well, what was left of him.

* * *

Sheriff Alex Romero was having a truly miserable day. Not only was it raining yet again, but he'd had to wade through half a foot of muck to get to the day's crime scene: a triple homicide out behind one of the pot fields. After hours getting rained on while standing in mud, he was a soggy, muddy mess, and so was his poor car. At least now, several hours past when he shift ended, he was heading back to the motel, where there would be a hot shower and some dry clothes to improve his day.

Thank God.

* * *

Norma heard the Sheriff arrive before she saw him; she wondered how fast he'd been going on the main road to make so much noise. Before long, the SUV came into view, parking in its usual spot in front of Alex's room. It was more brown than anything else, and so badly splattered that several letters of "Sheriff" were obscured by mud. She watched the car while sweeping yet more dried mud from the walkway. She was never clear why Romero held so much fascination for her, but gave into it regularly, keeping an eye on him when he wasn't looking. Which, she thought to herself, wasn't very often.

Alex stepped down from the car, taking a moment to stretch out his long legs before walking towards his room, keys already in hand. Norma needed only a second to stop and stare at the state of his boots before running after him, propping her broom hurriedly against the wall as she went. Much like his car, Alex's black work boots were so covered in mud that you couldn't tell what color they really were anymore.

There was no way she was letting him walk around her motel in those!

* * *

Romero's eyes were half-closed as he dragged himself to the door to Room 11. He unlocked the door, and pushed it open.

And then he heard a loud, angry voice behind him.

"What do you think you're doing?"

He turned to find Norma standing a few paces behind him, hands on her hips, looking furious.

He paused for a moment, uncomprehending.

"I'm going into my room," he replied simply, pointing at his newly-opened door.

"Not with those on, you're not."

She was looking at his boots. Which were, admittedly, filthy. Romero heaved a tired sigh.

"Norma, I really just want to-"

"Take. Them. _Off_." It was not a request.

Now thoroughly pissed, Romero dealt her his best glare – the one that sent hardened drug lords cowering into corners – but she only looked angrier at his resistance.

"_Off_," she repeated.

After a short stare-down, he finally saw the futility in arguing, and an angry Norma wasn't something he needed or wanted to deal with right now. With another frustrated sigh, he propped himself against the doorframe of Room 11, his free hand untying the laces of one boot, then the other. He let the boots fall unceremoniously onto the walkway, well aware that, upon impact, they sent droplets of muddy water in all directions. He looked up at Norma.

Her face was murderous.

"There. They're off," he snapped, striding into his room and shutting the door with a loud snap.

He knew he would regret his temper later, but for now, he would give anything for a hot shower, some dry clothes, and a bit of quiet.

* * *

A few days later, the rain finally broke, and the sun came out to remind people that yes, it was still there somewhere.

Romero hardly even minded dropping a file by the office that afternoon, if only because it gave him something to do on the beautiful, sunny day. He hadn't had a sunny day off in a few months, and he wasn't sure what to do with himself. First things first, though, he drove himself back to the motel. As he pulled into the motel parking lot, he saw Norma sitting on the concrete stairs leading up to her house. A bucket sat next to her, and she seemed to be washing the steps. Romero gathered that her hose wouldn't reach that far up the stairs, so if she wanted the mud off, she would have to do it by hand.

He still felt bad for being mean to her; thinking about it, he knew that all she had wanted was to not have to clean up more mud. And seeing how hard he fought her attempts to do his laundry for him, one would think that Alex would want Norma cleaning up after him as little as possible. He knew he was in the wrong, though it pained him to admit it.

As he got out of his car, he made a split-second decision to try to make things right, and so made the short walk over to the stairs. Norma looked ill-dressed for her chosen activity; the pure white blouse, the navy blue skirt, and those heeled sandals she favored didn't suit her task at all. Not that Romero minded. Norma Bates had the best legs he'd ever seen, and if she wanted to stretch them out across the stairs as she worked, then who was he to complain?

"Hey, Norma," he greeted her, a small smile already in place in case she was still mad at him.

She continued her work, as though he wasn't there. His smile faded.

'_She must be angrier than I thought.'_

Still, Sheriff Alex Romero was the poster child for perseverance, and he tried again.

"Norma?"

Norma jumped a foot in the air, rocketing up from where she sat, while also spinning to face him. Her sudden, wild movement had the unfortunate consequence of knocking over the bucket of water on the stair above her. Its contents went everywhere, drenching Norma's upper half in soapy water.

And so there she stood, sopping wet, chest heaving and eyes wide, staring at Alex, who could only stare back with nearly the same level of surprise.

"Alex," she managed.

"Norma," he greeted her again, trying desperately to maintain his composure. But as the seconds ticked by, he felt his grip slacken, and a smirk started to form in the corner of his mouth.

Norma pursed her lips at him, but try as he most certainly did, he couldn't keep it together, and before long a quiet chuckle escaped his lips. Norma put her hands on her hips in outrage, but it only made the image funnier for him, and he lost all control, descending into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. He laughed so hard, he had to brace his hands on his knees to keep from falling over. A small voice in his head warned him that this was no way to apologize to Norma, and he glanced up at her, hoping she wasn't seething.

She wasn't.

In fact, she was now struggling to maintain her stern expression, and a few seconds after Alex met her gaze, she gave in to a fit of giggles, her arms dropping limply to her sides in defeat. She hung her head in mild embarrassment as she laughed, dropping down to sit on the wet stairs. Alex finally got a grip on his laughter, squeezing words out here and there.

"I'm… I'm so sorry… I actually… I actually wanted… to apologize… for the other day… But now…" He broke off, laughing again as he gestured at her sorry state.

She pretended to look offended, but her grin gave her away, and just shook her head in resignation. She reached out to pick up the bucket, which had landed in the flowers next to the path. As she set it back down next to her, her grin suddenly altered in intensity, and she looked up at Alex through her eyelashes with evil eyes, her intentions obvious.

"No, Norma, don't-"

_**Splash **_

Norma had chucked what water remained in the bucket straight at him, soaking his face and torso. He stood, stunned and bedraggled, looking at Norma in consternation.

"Wha… What was that for?!"he demanded, shaking out his arms as though to dry them.

Norma was doubled over on the stairs in near hysteria by now, and could only wave a hand at her own drenched clothes in explanation.

"But that was an _accident_!" he protested.

Norma merely shrugged, or seemed to. It was hard to tell, with her body convulsing with laughter the way it was. And it was infectious, because, angry as he wanted to be with her, Alex felt his own smile returning. He surrendered to his own laughter once more.

Walking over to where she sat, he reached down and offered Norma his hand. Still in the midst of a giggling fit, she took is with a grateful nod and let him pull her up to her feet.

He took in the state of his clothes.

"This time, I think I'll let you do my laundry," he cracked, and she laughed harder still, leaning on his shoulder to keep herself upright.

His laughter subsided momentarily as she touched him - as he suddenly became aware of how close she stood to him. His eyes, acting against long-standing orders, strayed from her face, and discovered that he could easily see right through her drenched white blouse, and down to the white, lace bra she was wearing underneath. His eyes lingered longer than they ought to have, and when he looked back up at her face, she was watching him with an unreadable expression. It was like the day she patched him up at her kitchen table all over again, and a knot formed in his stomach.

'_Stupid, Alex. Stupid,'_ he thought as a long, awkward silence reigned.

"I, uh, I have towels up at the house," Norma finally said, pointing up the stairs with a smile.

"Yeah," he replied, following her as she led the way up to the house. He could have pointed out that he had plenty of towels in his motel room, but he was too busy kicking himself. Looking at her was inevitable, but getting caught was sloppy. Alex Romero was never sloppy, damn it.

Once in the house, Norma led the way to the laundry room, which was a small alcove just off the kitchen. Even glancing at the kitchen table made Alex uncomfortable, and he shook his head, desperate to clear his mind. It was hard to do, with Norma's shirt in the state that it was.

Upon entering the small space, Norma took a few towels from the stack on top of the dryer and handed them to Alex.

"Here, why don't you get dried off. I think I have an old shirt of Dylan's you can wear while your clothes dry. I'll be right back," she told him as she left the room. He heard her heels clicking on the stairs; no doubt she was going to change her shirt.

Alex wasn't fond of the idea of wearing one of her son's shirts, but after another glance at his sodden clothes, he decided he would deal. Dry clothes were better than none, after all. After drying off his face, he unbuttoned his dark flannel shirt, peeling it off and dropping it into the dryer with a wet plop. The black undershirt he wore followed suit a few seconds later. Grabbing a fresh towel, he dried himself off, glad to see that very little of the water had gotten on his jeans – because standing shirtless in Norma Bates' house wasn't awkward enough!

Neck prickling, Alex had the sudden, odd feeling of being watched. Looking over to the doorway, he found that Norma had returned, sans heels and now wearing a pale pink blouse. In her hand, she held a grey and black flannel shirt, but she made no move to hand it over.

Her attention lay elsewhere. Alex's naked chest, to be specific. Her eyes traced every line and ridge, every curve and bulge of muscle. Up and down, her eyes went, taking it all in, as Alex stood rooted to the spot in stunned silence.

After a time, Alex finally opened his mouth to say something – though what, he didn't know. But the small movement caught Norma's attention, and their eyes met. The lascivious smirk she'd been wearing dropped off her face in an instant as she realized that he'd seen her checking him out. Her cheeks reddened, and she broke eye contact, staring at the floor.

Wordlessly, she held the shirt out to him.

A long, long moment passed, Norma's arm still outstretched, while Alex could only look at her, processing. Neither moved a muscle as the seconds ticked by.

And then everything happened at once.

Before he could think, and before his brain could intercede and tell him all the reasons he shouldn't do it, he stepped forward, taking the shirt from her hand and tossing it aside. His hands traced the line of her jaw on their journey to the back of her neck, which he cradled gently. She was already leaning into him, one of her hands sliding up his chest.

"Alex," she whispered, just before his lips touched hers.

It was a strange sort of relief to finally kiss her. He had fantasized about it for months, and ever since that day Norma cleaned up his cut, he couldn't get her out of his mind. But now he had her, and he shifted one arm down around her waist, pulling her closer, as if to reassure himself that yes, she was really here. In his arms, where she belonged.

He couldn't be sure how long they stood there, except that when they finally pulled apart, they were both breathing raggedly, their lungs desperate for oxygen. Alex and Norma stood, their arms still wrapped around each other, their gazes locked.

"Upstairs?" she whispered.

"Yes," he replied before she had finished asking.

There being nothing else to say, she turned to leave the room, taking hold of his hand as she did. She guided him through her house, up the stairs, and into her bedroom. He followed, the perpetual weight of unrequited attraction having dropped away from him, leaving him feeling lighter than he had been in months.

She shut the door, and he pressed her back against it before she could do anything else. Judging by her soft, contended sigh, she didn't mind in the least. Her hands roamed his chest before finally settling at his waist, pulling him into another kiss. His hands were already at work unbuttoning her shirt; he slid it off her shoulders shortly thereafter. She moaned softly in the loss of contact when she had to release him to get her arms out of the blouse, but in no time it was discarded at their feet.

They paused then, his eyes going everywhere that up until now they'd been banned from going, and her hands going places he'd only dreamed they might go.

When his eyes met hers again, there was a slight question in his eyes. He had to know; he had to be sure. Because this could not be something she regretted doing, nor would this be a one-time thing. He wanted to have her, to consume her, but he also wanted to keep her. She would be his now, and they had to be clear on that.

He saw nothing but total consent and trust in her eyes, and he smiled.

And he took her to bed.

* * *

Norma shifted slightly, tucking her head just beneath his shoulder, her hand lazily tracing the lines of his chest as they lay in her bed.

"How did this happen?" she murmured dreamily.

If it weren't for her happy tone, he would have been deeply worried.

"I thought you hated me," she continued.

"I don't hate you," he said with a chuckle. "I'm pretty sure I just proved that."

"You did," she said with a girlish giggle. "I just… ," she began, wrapping her arms a bit more tightly around him, "don't know what I did to deserve you."

He smiled to himself, and then, with a start, realized what the answer was.

"You made me smile."

She tilted her head back to look up at him, one of her fingers tracing his lips. Smiling wider now, she settled herself back onto his chest.

Then, suddenly, she sat up.

"Shit," she muttered to herself.

She twisted around to face him.

"I never started the dryer!"

* * *

A/N: So, one person suggested something about Norma getting mad at Romero for tracking mud into the motel. Another suggested some sort of water fight between the two. I opted to combine them into the same piece... I hope you enjoy. As always, please let me know if you find typos. I like my stories to be typo-free!

As always, if you have ideas for possible situations my favorite pair can get themselves into, feel free to PM me!


End file.
